Day of Rest!

We went to Nauvoo to see Mom and Dad this weekend. It was just me with the three youngest. We had a wonderful time. A sleigh ride (forgot the camera so Dad lent me his, but the pics are still in Nauvoo). Hot chocolate at Magleby's -- THE BEST hot chocolate on the planet!!! Games with Grandma and Grandpa. (if you haven't played Qwirkle, you should. It's a good one!) Fun conversation and the love that you feel from parents. All great stuff.

Sunday morning, however was not my fav. You've experienced your own version this. Mine went something like this.

Wake up at 7:15 in a panic because church starts at 8:00 and Dad warned you that all the missionaries are in their seats and listening to prelude music by 7:50. Rouse three children and rush them to the breakfast table. Leave them with instructions to get dressed the minute they finish their cereal while you jump in the shower. Get out of the shower to find that your children aren't done getting dressed, yell, patiently usher them through the dressing process.
Fix hair, brush teeth, comfort eleven year old daughter who's discovered she left her Sunday shoes home and is mortified at the thought of wearing tennis shoes to church. Fix Girlie-whirl's hair. Snarf a bowl of cereal. Holler for everyone to get their coats on as you eat the last two bites. Throw on your coat and yell gently remind your children to get their coats on. NOW.

Herd them out the door and discover that we're gonna have to wade through snow to get to the car, a fair jaunt. Tell them to wait at the door while you get the car. Plod through the snow in your Sunday flats and fill your shoes with snow. Open the trunk for the snow scraper. Realize that it's in the very back of your large trunk and that you're gonna have to climb in to reach it. Notice that your skirt isn't gonna allow it. Hike up the skirt and climb into the trunk with great haste in a very, ahem, shall we say, ladylike fashion. Grab the scraper and hastily brush the snow off your windows.

Jump in the car. Start her up and force your impatient, late self to eeeease on the gas so your wheels won't spin in all the snow and slowly drive round to the front. Roll down the window and, with the patience of Job, of course, verbally hurry your children along as they dawdle out the door.

Drive slowly and carefully to the church while pointedly ignoring the persistent little voice in your head that's screaming "You're gonna be late!" Arrive at the stake center only to find that you can't park any where near the place. Drop the children off at the door. Find a parking place on the opposite side of the building from where your children are.

Wade through more snow (filling your shoes again). Enter the building, seeing your children at the end of a very long hallway. Wave to them, 'cuz you're right by the chapel and it would be really convenient if they would come to you. Realize that they're looking out the door for you and thus will never see you waving. Race walk down the hall. Gather your children. Hang up coats. Herd them down the hallway. Find your parents in the chapel. Collapse on the bench and recover as best you can from the marathon morning.

It was well worth the effort. A lovely sacrament meeting. My children have never been to church in a congregation with no children. The sacrament was completely silent. A novel thing. But I could have happily done without the first hour of my Sunday.